


time and quiet

by velvetglove



Category: Smallville
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s03e08 Shattered, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-26
Updated: 2003-11-26
Packaged: 2018-10-29 07:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10849578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetglove/pseuds/velvetglove
Summary: First posted to Live Journal on 11/26/03Missing barn scene from S03E08 Shattered





	time and quiet

As sure as he was that Lex was telling the truth as he knew it, Clark wasn't at all confident that Lex's version of events had any basis in reality.

Clark's visit to the mansion had given him doubts about Lex's story. His footsteps echoed in quiet corridors and the sheer normalcy of the sleeping household seemed ominous. Hadn't anyone noticed Lex was missing? He would have expected to see some indication of the trouble the night before, but there were, if anything, fewer security precautions in place than usual. It was almost a relief when the guard confronted Clark outside Lex's office, even if he did seem to think that Lex was asleep and Darius was alive. Unfortunately, there was no way to know if the guard really thought those things, or if he just hoped to convince Clark. The idea of the mansion staff being involved really bothered Clark. It was hard to believe that Lionel Luthor and Morgan Edge, whether in combination or separately, could buy off every single person in Lex's employ. Wouldn't _someone_ have remained loyal to Lex?

As for the broken windows, Clark had seen Lex's people in action before, so it seemed entirely possible that the glass could have been repaired overnight. But the shard of glass in his pocket was only proof that the window had been broken at some point in the past, not that it had been shattered last night, nor that it had happened as Lex claimed.

The empty wall safe was disappointing for two reasons: Not only was Clark unable to get the proof that the U.S. Attorney required, but now he couldn't be sure that Lex wasn't imagining the whole thing.

Nearing the farm, Clark scanned the barn and was relieved to find Lex still there, right where he'd left him, curled up behind the desk. His breathing was slow and regular and Clark hoped he was asleep. Lex had been nearly vibrating with agitation when Clark found him, jumpy and paranoid. After telling Clark about the attack, he'd finally admitted that he hadn't slept at all. Once he'd reached the barn, the unfamiliar noises of the farm woke him each time he started to drift off.

Bypassing the barn, Clark ducked into the house. Thankfully, neither of his parents were inside. From the kitchen window, Clark could see Dad out near the back of the property, crouched down next to the tractor with a toolbox at his side. For once, Clark was grateful for the machine's temperamental mechanics. Clark glanced at the clock: Mom must have left to make deliveries in town.

Whether or not Lex was crazy, he'd look less like a madman in a shirt that wasn't spattered with blood. Clark slammed hangers along the rail in his closet, trying not to bring everything down in his hurry. There was nothing from his own wardrobe that wasn't going to hang on Lex like a dress, but the blue shirt he'd worn for his eighth-grade school picture was still in the back of the closet, and that might come closer to fitting than anything else would. He gathered supplies to deal with Lex's wounds from the bathroom cabinet, folding them up in the shirt, and hurried downstairs, always watchful for the return of one or the other of his parents.

His final raid was on the refrigerator: biscuits and honey left over from breakfast, blackberry cobbler, bacon he fried with a concentrated stare, and a thermos of coffee. He sped over to the barn with his arms full.

Clark leaned over the desk and looked down on Lex, curled on his side with the blanket from the couch. His face was as peaceful as a baby's. "Lex!" Clark whispered. "Lex! Wake up!"

Lex's eyes fluttered, then opened. "Clark?" He smiled, blinking blearily.

"I brought you some food."

"It smells great." Lex stretched lazily and yawned. He seemed much calmer than when Clark had left, languid and expansive in his movements. Much calmer. He rose and ambled over to the couch, collapsing bonelessly into a cross-legged position. He yawned again, rubbing the back of his neck with some concentration. He became more animated when Clark began unwrapping the food, wolfing down biscuits and licking his fingers clean.

"Mom's in town," Clark said, "and Dad's out back messing with the tractor, so I don't know how much time we have."

"Mm." Lex seemed distracted.

"Lex? Are you all right? I mean--" Clark felt stupid. Of course Lex wasn't all right! "You don't seem like your usual self."

"I'm a little tired," Lex admitted. "What happened at the mansion, Clark?"

While Lex continued to eat, Clark told him what he'd seen at the mansion. Lex didn't say much, just nodded and said, "Go on," when Clark hesitated. At one point, he interrupted Clark and looked up at him, his eyes very clear and serene, and said, "I love your mother's cooking, you know."

"I know," Clark said. "Everyone does." He wanted to put his hands all over Lex and make him safe, cover and protect him. Instead, all he could do was smile and say, "When you're finished eating, we need to get you cleaned up."

"Sure," Lex agreed, nodding. He bit into a strip of bacon, closed his eyes with pleasure, and said, "God, this is perfect."

Clark watched him eat with both affection and apprehension. Lex had lost all of his former sense of urgency. He wiped crumbs up from the plate with his finger and looked like he might start licking the china.

"Do you want more?" Clark asked. "I can get more."

Lex shook his head, as if trying to shake off the last of his odd daze at the same time. He paused a moment before answering, but sounded more like himself when he said, "As tempting as that is, I shouldn't stay here any longer than necessary, Clark. My father will be looking for me." His hands went to the placket of his shirt and began unbuttoning. A more familiar, all-business Lex said, "Let's get the worst of this cleaned up, shall we?" He shrugged the blood-stiffened shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor, then made himself comfortable on the couch, stretching out long and letting his head rest against the arm.

Clark knelt down beside him to evaluate the damage. The right side of Lex's chest was rusty with dried blood but the wounds seemed mostly superficial, scratches and cross-hatched abrasions where pinpoints of glass had passed through the fine weave of his shirt. A few deeper red-beaded lines clawed across the muscle, including one traversing the upper edge of his nipple. The most serious was a deep, bite-shaped wound at the upper swell of the pectoral muscle, the edges bruised purple and thick with clotted blood.

Clark's hand shook as he touched the large wound. He was as gentle as he could manage, but Lex still flinched. "Sorry," he whispered.

"S'okay," Lex murmured. He tucked his chin, trying to see the wound. "Does it look bad?"

"It looks awful." Now that he was close, he could see the cut on Lex's forehead better, too, and was relieved to see that it wasn't actually very big, though there was a lot of blood smeared around. "But you'll live."

"I intend to. I would have stayed home if I had other plans." Lex snickered a little at his own cleverness.

Frowning, Clark tilted the bottle of rubbing alcohol, soaking the cotton. "This might sting," he said, but Lex merely shrugged. He dabbed at Lex's forehead, wiping away dried blood. He held Lex's chin in his hand, tilting his head back. Lex looked at him, watching solemnly, so intent that it made Clark flush.

"It's okay, Clark," Lex reassured him. "Don't worry. It doesn't hurt."

"Tell me if it does," Clark murmured. He continued wiping blood from intact skin, the prominence of collarbone, the flesh around the deep wound, the faint, blurry lines like whiskers where the blood had transferred from the wet folds of his shirt. Now for the actual cuts: Clark started with some of the shallow abrasions, thinking they'd hurt less, but he must have been wrong, since Lex inhaled sharply with the first touch of the wet cotton pad against his skin. Clark asked, "Are you okay?" Lex nodded a yes, but let his eyes fall closed.

Without his shirt, Lex was more muscular than Clark remembered, sleek and hard. Unfortunately, fencing and boxing didn't do much good against bullets. Lex's lower ribs were dappled in sepia, light bruising of the fine-grained skin, and Clark wiped at the marks without thinking, muscles jumping under his fingers.

"I'm cut there, too?" Lex asked, his eyes opening in surprise.

"No, no. Sorry." Clark colored and reminded himself to focus on the task at hand. There were tiny cuts, little darts radiating away from the largest cut like a plume. He watched Lex's face while he dabbed at them, but Lex didn't flinch.

Clark hated that this was hurting Lex. He wanted to avoid the scabbed line that crossed through the upper edge of Lex's nipple, but it had to be done. There was a hitch in Lex's breath and, as Clark watched, the flesh drew erect, flushed and tight. Clark bit his lip and kept wiping. When he reached the crusted blood on the big, wedge-shaped cut, Lex winced and Clark cringed in sympathy. The wound began to bleed, a slow ooze. Clark let his breath out; he hadn't realized he'd been holding it in.

"We're done." Clark could feel Lex relax, too. "It's going to scab up again, but at least it's clean now." He opened a little jar of salve, wrinkling his nose at the odor. "This should help you heal," Clark said. Fingers slick with grease moved over Lex's skin in small circles, coating each wound with the herbal remedy. Lex sighed at the touch, his face softening. Clark had seen his mother do this for Dad so many times, but he'd never realized how intimate it was until now.

"What's in that?" Lex asked, eyes still closed. "It smells…"

"Gross, I know."

Lex laughed. "Not gross, exactly. I'd say 'earthy.'"

Clark smiled and kept rubbing. "Calendula, arnica, probably aloe…other stuff. I don't know what the smell is. Herbs, I guess. Mom makes it." He dabbed salve along the freshly-clotted edge of the largest cut, then reached to gently apply it to the cut over Lex's eye.

The eye opened. "Thank you, Clark," Lex said.

Clark shrugged. "What are friends for?"

"Not this, I don't think," Lex said. "I'm pretty sure this is above-and-beyond the call."

"There," Clark said, withdrawing his hand. "I think that's it."

"What about here?" Lex asked, pointing to the line of cuts above his nipple. "You didn't do these yet."

Clark couldn't meet Lex's eyes, but he knew they were open and focused on his face. His slick fingers slid over Lex's chest, the dotted line of red that just crossed the border between white skin and pink. He felt Lex's nipple harden under his fingertips, barely heard the intake of breath or the creaking of the sofa under Lex's shifting weight over the pounding of his own heart. "Lex," he said, "I don't want you to get hurt, Lex."

Lex's mouth twisted in a wistful smirk. "I don't want that, either."

But he was already hurt, and Clark couldn't do anything about it. Clark's hand slipped from Lex's chest to his waist, his thumb brushing the crest of bone at Lex's hip. He lurched forward to bury his face in the curve of Lex's neck, wrapping his arms around his friend's body in an awkward, desperate hug. He held on tight and pushed his face against the pulse in Lex's throat, breathing in deep draughts of air that smelled of blood and Lex and medicine. Compared to anyone else Clark had held close like this, Lex felt strong and solid, but he was still dangerously fragile. "I'll protect you," Clark said, but his words were muffled and distorted against Lex's throat and he knew they sounded like nothing at all. Still, he knew he'd made a promise even if Lex didn't.

Lex shifted beneath him, warm and pliant, first moving against him with a soft moan, and then away. "Clark," Lex murmured, his mouth against Clark's ear. "Clark, you've got to let go."

"Lex?"

"I have to get up. I can't stay here."

"Oh. Yeah, sure." Clark released his hold and moved back, giving Lex room to sit upright. Lex lay there a moment looking up at him, pale and bruised, a little flushed, his cock tenting his pants.

Lex noticed him noticing. "Sorry," he said, cocking an eyebrow and not seeming particularly sorry at all. "Natural reaction to being petted and mauled."

"Don't apologize," Clark blurted. "I don't mind." He held onto Lex's wrist and willed him to understand.

Lex's face brightened, but he shook his head. "You have the worst timing, Clark. No wonder you never get the girl."

Emboldened, Clark said, "I don't _want_ the girl."

Lex laughed, sounding carefree and happy, if only for a moment. "Believe me, Clark," he said, swinging his feet to the floor, "I'll remember this. I'll want to talk about this later." He put his hands to either side of Clark's face, and for a moment Clark hoped Lex might kiss him. Instead, his hands dropped away and he said, "But right now…" He stood and looked around. "Is this for me?" He picked up the blue shirt from the back of Clark's desk chair. When Clark nodded, he said, "It smells like you," and smiled. The cotton was crisp and bright, and already Lex was looking better, more vibrant.

Lex took the shirt into the light, standing in front of the open loft door and looking out at the fields as if transfixed. "So tell me again," Lex began, wincing as he rubbed his neck. He stared at the floor for a moment too long, then shook his head. "Tell me, Clark. What was happening at the mansion?"

Clark began to doubt again. Lex seemed so confused and scattered, not at all like his usual self. Frustrated, Clark said, "I'm telling you, Lex. It was like being in the Twilight Zone. There was nothing wrong."

"I didn't imagine getting shot at, Clark," Lex admonished, pulling on the shirt. "They must have had cleaners in to cover their tracks." And now, moment to moment, when Lex sounded normal and in control, that statement didn't even seem paranoid or far-fetched.

Just because there was something wrong didn't mean that Lex was crazy, or that he was lying, and right now there was no way to know what it meant. Clark had a decision to make in the next instant: believe Lex, or don't believe him. He couldn't be on Lex's side only part of the time. He couldn't believe him only when he sounded the way Clark expected him to.

He watched Lex sliding buttons through buttonholes, head bent to his task, conviction in the line of his shoulders. So maybe Clark hadn't gotten the kiss he'd wanted. Maybe he hadn't gotten the reaction to his almost-admission that he'd hoped for. But right now it was more important to prove he could be a good friend, deserve the trust Lex had put in him by coming here.

Clark made his decision, opened his mouth and spoke. "Yeah, well, they missed a spot. I found this in the hallway." He held up the shard of glass, red and shining like blood, and let Lex take it from his hand. He could only hope that Lex would understand that they were on the same side from now on, no matter how the rest of the world fell out. Rather than take time to make the point, he kept talking, offering information and suggestions. Being a friend.

It wasn't as overt as a speech about destiny, but Clark was pretty certain that Lex would understand what Clark had done, what it meant, when he finally had time and quiet to think about it. And at that moment, selfishly, Clark determined that somehow he'd help Lex find just that.


End file.
